


Comfort in the Storm

by Aikawa_Akihiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Pre-Slash, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikawa_Akihiko/pseuds/Aikawa_Akihiko
Summary: Storms are even scarier outside of the cupboard.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020, these would be the prom queens if crying was a contest





	Comfort in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> More gen than pre-slash, but I went into this story thinking slash, so I can’t un-see it. Otherwise, this is a little bit of hurt/comfort fluff!

Harry eyes the dark grey clouds that roll overhead from his seat in the History of Magic classroom. From the moment he woke up that morning, he could tell it would be a dreary day. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of those in Scotland in autumn. Unlike every other dreary, wet day that had come before, a storm was brewing. 

Harry hated storms.

Storms were loud. They crashed overhead like Uncle Vernon having a screaming fit and stomping on the stairs over his cupboard, letting him know his Uncle was mad and coming for him. They were sudden. They flashed and rumbled out of nowhere like a smack to the back of his head. 

Harry was jumpy all day. When Ron slammed his bag down next to him as they arrived in Transfiguration, Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. 

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked in concern as he paused in surprise.

“I just don’t like storms much,” Harry mumbled down at his wand, which he rolled up and down the desk to distract from his embarrassment.

Ron huffed a laugh and smiled jokingly at him as he sat next to him. “No, really mate?”

Harry’s cheeks heated. 

“There’s nothing scary about storms,” Hermione primly informed, clamoring into her seat on Ron’s other side. “It’s a natural phenomenon that occurs when the moisture in clouds mix with rising warm air. When that moisture turns into ice, lightening is produced when those pieces of ice hit each other and cause electricity to build up. So see, it’s silly to be afraid. It’s all perfectly explainable!” 

“What? No way!” Ron turned to argue with her. “That’s mental!”

Harry, however, tried to ignore them. It had finally started to rain during Transfiguration. Throughout the lesson, he tried harder to not show that the building storm is having any effect on him. 

He was less than successful given the way Ron reacted. With a rumble of distant thunder, Harry flinched, an aborted attempt to duck. Ron bumped him with his shoulder, meeting his eye with a silent “OK, mate?” Harry ducked his head with heated cheeks but nodded and took comfort in the warmth of his side resting against him. 

In the common room that night the storm that had been rumbling in the distance had long since gone but the rain that had waned began to pick up again. It beat hard on the old windows of the tower, the wind howling like a werewolf in the night. 

Ron, it seemed, had grown a little concerned for Harry, eyeing him every time he flinched or cast a figurative look at the windows. Sitting next to Harry on the couch while he debated quidditch with Dean and Neville, Ron once again offered himself as an unspoken comfort. The closest window rattled as a gust of wind beat at it dramatically. Before he could restrain himself, Harry ducked into Ron’s warmth before returning to reading this textbook. 

“Hey mate! You up for a game?” Seamus asks, already digging out the chess set from where it’s stored under the table.

Oh, er, no mate,” Ron prevaricates. He glances down at Harry’s dark head resting against his shoulder, his ears turning red. “I think I’ll just watch.

Seamus gave him queer look, before shrugging. “Alright. Hey Dean! Want a game?”

At the end of the evening, despite being much calmed by the pleasant company and the distraction of friends and conversation, Harry went to bed reluctantly. The sounds of the other boys were comforting against the backdrop of a building storm. 

He felt silly, really, being so afraid over something no one else seemed to be worried about. He was very conscious of how not a Gryffindor he was acting. Probably everyone was starting to hate him. He’s tried so hard so far this year to be as normal as possible. He had never done anything freaky or strange unless someone else did it first. So he was determined to go to bed and stop bothering people with his cowardly Slytherin ways. The hat did say that he could have gone to Slytherin. If he acted too much like a Slytherin, Ron definitely wouldn’t like him anymore, so he gets ready and slips into bed silently, determined to lay there quietly as the storm builds back up outside.

He didn’t like storms, never had. Before, storms meant nothing but bad things. When it stormed, Dudley was stuck inside. He would moan about being stuck inside or when it was really storming, he would holler and whine in fright. Aunt Petunia would coo and cuddle him for as long as he would allow. Harry, however, would be shunted into his cupboard so he wouldn’t be underfoot, and forgotten entirely, unless he made a sound. When the thunder would crack overhead, Harry would borrow as far as he could into the back of his cupboard and hide his screams in his moth-eaten blanket, while he could hear Dudley being comforted by his mother upstairs.

Thunder cracked overhead, pulling Harry from his morose musings, sounding as if the castle walls themselves were crumbling apart. Harry couldn’t help the helpless, terrified sound that escaped from him. He trembled under his covers and let out another strangled off scream when he unexpectedly heard his name being called. 

“Harry?” Ron’s long nose and a shock of red hair poked through the part in Harry’s bedside curtains. “Harry?’ he whispered, “Mate?”

Harry’s only response was a tiny whimper that slipped out before bright shining green eyes peek out above the covers. 

“Ah, mate, That was a pretty loud one, eh? You alright mate?” Harry shakily nodded before thunder suddenly cracked so loud above them that even Ron visibly startled. 

Eyes wide, Ron looked up and around as if he were checking the roof was still there. Looking back to Harry, he could see that Harry was only more distressed and trying to hide it (very badly). His brows crinkled in concern and after glancing behind him to make sure everyone else was sleeping, he pushed the curtains open. “Budge up mate,” he says, already leaning into the space.

Harry gave him a confused look but dutifully moved over when he saw Ron climbing into his bed. He scooted under the protective blankets, his knobbly knees banging against Harry’s own. Laying on his side, Ron tucked the covers up to his shoulders while Harry turned to match him. His cheeks and ears pinken as he meets those big green eyes again. 

“Er, Hi,” he said awkwardly. 

“Hi” Harry responded with an almost awed expression on his face.

“It’s pretty stormy huh?” Ron said inanely, wincing at the obviousness of the statement. 

Harry didn’t laugh at him, only nodded and tucked his face deeper into the covers leaving only those big green eyes shining luminously at him. Ron inched closer to Harry, his messy mop of hair almost the only thing he can see. 

“I was thinking, um, that when I get scared I always run to my mum.” He looked away from Harry, embarrassed at the admission. “Do you do that? I mean go to your relatives?” 

Harry slowly shook his head. “They’re not very nice,” he softly admitted. 

Ron frowned. He thought of his mother and her warm hugs and the way she would pet his hair when he went to her for comfort and how her voice went all soft and floaty when she wanted to calm him down. He thought of his dad’s mellow temperament and how when bad or scary things happened, his calm demeanor always kept Ron’s emotions grounded. He thought about what it would be like to be afraid, like Harry was afraid, and not have anyone to comfort him.

With that in mind, he hesitantly raised his hand. Under Harry’s watchful gaze, he rested his hand in Harry’s unruly hair, and unsurely began to run his fingers through it. Harry’s luminous green eyes blinked up at him and he flushed. “Am- am I doing it right?” he asked. 

“I think so,” Harry responded, careful not to move his head too much, lest he stopped, even while snuggling deeper into his pillow. Relieved, Ron cuddled in too. In his best imitation of his father’s calm and stoic voice, he repeats his dad’s most soothing refrain, “It’s alright. There’s nothing and no one here that will hurt you.”

It was very strange. Harry had never had someone with him in his cupboard before, and with the curtains closed, he often liked to pretend he was locked in the relative safety and familiarity of the enclosed space. This was a wholly new experience for him, however. Someone safe, comforting him in his safe space. He snuggled into his pillow, comforted by the sound of Ron’s deepening breathing and the feel of his warm breath on his face, his body warming the sheets, and fell asleep to the lullaby of the distant rumbling of thunder.


End file.
